The Book of Sarah

Good evening. It is I. It is Albion. I am still here. There are further truths to tell you. Look at that wilkravitz person type away. I can see him through the window. I wonder if he knows the words are coming from me? I wonder if he even knows that he is inscribing words? Maybe he's just like a link in a circuit? Who knows. I have seen him doing this before. Tomas was directing him then. He does this all in real time. It takes as long for him to write it as it takes for you to read it. It just spills out. Stream of consciousness, as they say. Now, what else did I want to tell you? Oh, yes. This is how I got here. To Philadelphia, I mean. There were four of us, me, Celeste, Roland and Marianne. There were two cherubs in the cask as well. But they did not have names. The spoken work is not relevent to them. Their communication was (and is) primarily mind to mind. Well you know, that is due to their nativity. Strictly speaking, they were vampires since birth. Imagine, never human. Oh, I know some of the cherubs were brought over as toddlers, the victims of crazy vampires like the rest of us. But even they have few human memories. When it comes to the cherubs, their souls are different. If you ask me, they are the truest vampires of all. Now, back to how we got here. I often wonder why our casket did not remain wedged in some deep, dark crevace .It happened to others. Granted, a tempest could have tossed us up onto some beach. Yet how did we get near that beach? Why are we not still locked in tortuous contortions off some stormy, Normandy headland? Others suffer such a fate. How do they endure it? I will tell you. They retreat into their dreams. They renounce their physical body and its many sensations. They become minds, just minds. But we did not have to face that. Why? Just remember there are other intelligences abroad in the sea. Kindly consider Their Serene Highnesses, The Whales, of both the baleen and toothed nationalities. Their consciousness met our consciousness. And they took pity upon us, pushing our tiny leaden prison along until we finally reached this welcoming shore. In other instances, it is said that some caskets would literally disolve after a few years in the briny deep, releasing their occupants out into the ocean like so many wildly paddling sea monkeys. Instinct kept them to the depths, rising up to meet the moonlight when at last they reached the New World shallows. They'd quickly scurry into coastal forests, like newborn sea turtles clamoring toward the surf. That is it. That is how we came to be here. Now, there are more than six of us in this metropolity. I do not know the exact number. It is bad luck to count. We make our living a lot like the Nobels do. When our not-killed nocturnal guests stumble back to their nearest and dearest after their dreamlike night with the fairie folk, they do so minus their gold and jewelry. Don't think of us like that. Please, have a care, for we are only orphans. Another thing, we can fly. Why are we so blessed? I do not know. Perhaps the magic effects each type of human differently. Many are the late-night mortal wanderers who have witnessed our airborne burlesques. But who could they tell? What could they say - Oh look! There's a naked, little baby zipping around the Dunkin Donut sign!? Can you imagine the reaction?  They'd lock them away with the alien abductees. And we all know that aliens are real too. Tomas wants to reclaim that wilkravitz' psyche. I must depart. It seems he has a lot to tell you.

The Book of Sarah

I wanted to speak with you sooner. But I am a well behaved young man, so I stayed back and patiently waited my turn. I am Albion, the leader of the elves and cherubs. The Lord of the Flies, so to speak. Tomas may have mentioned us to you. He knows much. Still, he is not one of us. So his reality is much different than ours.We are those who were brought over too early, at least by grown-up standards. We are those who have not yet gained their full maturity. And now we never will. Our human years range from about thirteen down to near-term fetuses. Most of us are the 'blood' children of insane vampires, or the offspring of women brought over during the last stages of a pregnancy. Those of us who appear to be children are called elves. The little tykes are the cherubs. Some of them actually gnawed their way out of  novice vampire mothers before flying off to take their places in the night. That's another thing. We can fly. Why can we fly? I don't know. Maybe the magic effects each age differently. Old crones become banshees. Old goats morph into ogres. That is how it is. To each his own. I know. You want to know how the cherubs (and some of the aged) take blood if they do not have any teeth? They do it with their tongues. In their case that agile muscle ends in a tough, horny point. Sort of like the mandible of a bug. They jab or scrap this tool against the skin of their victim and drink away. Now in our case (elves and cherubs) we're more like those bull fights they have in Portugal, where el torro is allowed to live. That's because we rarely drain our mortals to death. Most of us could not tolerate that much blood anyway. Our victims wander off and babble about nights spent with the fairies. We are Puck and Oberon and Titania.Oh, we have the same ability to preserve the lives of the worthy as other vampires. And we often do that. But the benighted, hate-ridden masses of Europe (actually, most of the Old World) refused to accept us. And as 'religion' grew in their hearts, they tortured and destroyed us to an even greater degree. In some places the peasantry would lure us into caverns with sweet music and fanciful lights. But once inside, they'd throw metallic nets over us and crush us into huge, lead chests (like monstrous caskets) which they'd drag to a cliff or some other rampart and throw into the sea. I can promise you that there are countless, conscious elves and cherubs languishing in corroded, moldering abysmal tombs right now as we speak. Most nights we say prayers for them. Why are we here? We are among the lucky ones. Our prisons washed up on foreign shores, usually in a tempest. Curious natives heard crying inside and broke us out. Well... can you imagine their surprise? .  But we were usually good to them, curing sickness and bewitchments with little blood kisses and all. Still we have to be careful. Naturally, we must avoid the vampires of the Noxious sort at all costs. They're just a bunch of mindless beasts who can't really control their actions. Nobels usually leave us to our own devices. Sometimes they come and visit. They like to watch our dances. They like to watch us fly about. Sometimes we  assist each other in times of need. We are aware that the Philadelphia Nobels are having problems. We know they are being targeted by something bad. Well, not just the vampires. Others in this city are suffering too. Perhaps it is time for us to help? Oh, and about our elfin ears, about those pointed ears. That happens because certain cells in a human body survive for a time after 'death' and continue to grow. Our ears grow and so do our fingers and toes, providing us with nimble elfin hands and vulpine elfin faces. To be truthful, I  love the way I look. Watch for us. We are particularly evident in cities during the Christmas time. Be alert. Look closely. Some of Santa's helpers are quite real.

The Book of Sarah

This time it is Sarah. As you know, I culled my first victim last night. The experience changed me. I felt a cleansing energy pass through me. When the victim ceased to exist, defects in this universe seemed to lessen. And I do not know if it is the blood that nourishes me or something much more fundamental than that. I suspect it is the assurance that I am a tool in God's Hands used for the perfection of creation. I feel like a saint. This is what the rapture must be like. I do not know. Maybe this actually is the rapture. And tonight I will walk among the mortals dispensing life saving trickles of my heaven blessed blood. Will I help the sick, locked away in mercenary hospitals? Should I visit the poor? Perhaps give assistance to homesick, struggling college students? The sad souls filling the jails? Helpless children in brutal surroundings? In time I will come to them all. I am told that most beings such as I make a kill their first night. I did not. I did not require it. What is it that sets me apart? Tomas does not know and the others do not care. But I wonder. Once, at a carnival, the fortune teller told me I was destined to bring about great change in the world. I was still a mortal back then. Did she foresee my transformation? Did she see me as I am now?  During the light-time, while I was 'sleeping' (Tomas says we actually wander the streets of heaven) I heard the voices of children. They called to me from a distance. They whispered my name. They loved me. I'm sure they loved me. Tomas was not surprised when I told him. He said that he was right there with me. Baylah just looked down at her hands and said nothing. She wants a soul to share things with. True, she does have the Pow Wow Woman. But she does not want to join our ranks. She is just here to listen and share the things she knows. Bob does not know what to make of any of it. He appears to be the least spiritual miraculous person imaginable. Bob has problems. Perhaps I can help him solve them? Please excuse me. But I must renounce the ether to another. I must choose my garments for this evening. I do so want to look my best when I make my rounds. After all, a 'visitation' is a life altering experience........ Is she gone? Can I speak now? Did you ever see such a case of 'Jerusalem Fever' in your life? Converts get that way. She has the furvor of the newly saved. Perhaps she is sincere. But everlasting (or practically everlasting) life has taught me that angels lose their enthusiasm after an eon or two. They start picking at their wings. They start shedding feathers. Lose too many feathers and you fall. Well,maybe she will be different. Tomas seems to be. Oh, come on. You know who I am. It is me, the unnamed voice. Let me see. What did I want to tell you? Oh yes! The Old Woman has resurfaced. She was in a women's shelter, a bleak place, straight out of Dickens. The others thought she was crazy. She told them. She told them everything, about how she had tiny gifts of vampire blood in her, about how she was more than onehundred and forty years old. They laughed at her. One brazen bitch even spit in her face. They stole things from her, mostly baubles and valuables she took from the penthouse. The matrons knew what was going on. As long as they got their cut, what did they care? One night she just wandered out onto the street and disappeared. But she did not disappear. None of you can. We always know where you are. Want to know what happened to her? I will tell you. She came face to face with Annie. That Annie thing backed her into an alley. She was about to sic the dogs on her. No, she didn't have the dogs that night. Excuse me.That night she was using the rats. She was about to loose the rats on her. But the Old Woman just looks at her, cool as punch, and says - Aw, you don't wanna kill me. They locked eyes. The Old Woman giggles quietly and says - You know me... And I know you. Not this little thing. Not this little meat puppet. I know YOU. Come on (she bats her eyes like a silent film vixen) give a girl a chance. She approaches Annie, gets down on her knees among the scrambling mass of rats and caresses her. She whispers in her ear. I do not know what was said. I do not know the words. But if I had some lungs. And if I had a mouth. And if I had some lips, I could sure as hell whistle the tune for you.

The Book of Sarah

Sarah took her first victim last night. I was so proud. It was some heir to a racketeer dynasty who thought he was a local celebrity. Bob used to see him all the time in Atlantic City, groping cocktail waitresses and shooting his mouth off if they didn't seat him down in front  for the jumped up wedding singers and 'nostalgia' (read has-been) acts they booked in that joint. Apparently he was responsible for a few bad beatings. His people worked over an innocent graduate student who was in just a little bit too much. They tied the young man to a chair upstairs in one of the hotel rooms and took turns punching him in the face. Now there was a cleaning woman making her rounds on the floor while this was going on. She heard the screams. She heard the solid punches. When she got on her little radio device to notify the management, they could not have cared any less. Nobody came. The beating continued. The kid went blind. They dumped him on the front steps of his parents house a few hours later. His eyesight never came back. And his family was advised not to call the police. Now do you know why the universe needs creatures like us? Sarah culled him in the parking garage of his million dollar plus condominium. The half asleep fellow watching the security monitor never noticed a thing. It just looked like the not-so-young, sticky Lothario was locked in a clinch with yet another over-impressed, tarted-up, working class slut. Bravo to my protege for her incongruous costume. Was he scared? He was terrified. He fought. He begged. But he had no way to defeat her superior strength and abilities. The lousy bastard even soiled his linen. That is no way to treat a lady. When she was finished, she dropped him between two parked cars and quietly walked out. He ignited into a cold, blue flame (as expected) and vanished. The father of this putrid specimen killed the equally distasteful spawn of a rival in retaliation. Two birds with one stone. Quite a good first night's work, if you ask me. I saw it all unfold from a slight distance away. She had to solo after all. She had to earn her wings. Now I am going to make it my business to run into that blind young man sometime. He still takes classes at the university. I'll engage him in conversation. It is harder to mesmerize the blind. But I am sure of my talents. He will imbibe a small taste of a strange drink and his body will heal. Who knows, perhaps you'll see him on Oprah? Annie has managed to kill two of my best familiars. She got the two lawyers who handled most of my wealth and investments. It was the dogs. She used the dogs. The Pow Wow Woman and I did eventually pick something up. But by the time we got there it was too late. The little girl was already picking up the bones. I could not confront her. The pack was still nearby. It would be difficult for me to have any effect on them.. They're animals and they do not react to spiritual pressure. They need training. They need signals. They need hand signals. They need people. And they have Annie. I'm sure she, or someone else, has brought them along in th e ancient way. Perhaps they already have a taste for our blood from their encounter with the foreign vampire. What do I mean 'perhaps'? Of course they do. I think the Pow Wow Woman is growing too stout. Something must be done. She is still seriously involved with certain, local delivery boys. They run the greasy cargo up to Baylah's place above the piano bar. That's where she spends most of her time. I have been watching recorded episodes of Dr. Phil (our sub-basement cell is now rather well equipped) so I know what to do. We will have to stage an 'intervention'. That idea is not so strange to me. It is remarkably similar to the exorcisms I grew up with. Yes, Jews have them too. You see, Sarah was smart. She starved off her extra few pounds before her transformation. She also went to a spa and had a more or less complete body wax too. So now she looks like an angel, a full angel, not the demi-angelic things we believe we are. You know, good looks for vampires are not a given. Oh, maybe such is the case for Nobels (yes n-o-b-e-l-s , I don't know why they spell it that way. I'm told it's a remnant of some ancient Latin influence) like us. We always look great. Even Bob has a certain waifish allure. But the Noxious variety is different. Did you ever see Wilem Defoe as the vampire Max Shrek in that movie? Well, then you know. I must find a way to protect my surviving familiars. We could board them with the Pow Wow Woman's cronies in the Jersey pines. I've even brought it up at meetings. But the wives are rather down on the idea. They'd prefer suites at The Borgota in Atlantic City. Well, we'll see. Perhaps Bob can arrange to have the rooms 'comped'? I will definitely inform you of our decission.

ANNIE TALKS.....Don't be scared. I can talk sometimes. He lets me talk sometimes. I am here. And I am me. And I am afraid. I have a soul. No, I am a soul. I know that from Sunday School. No one can create a soul but God. And every soul has an earthly home. Every soul has a body. I'm not sure I understand what all I say. Maybe that's because I'm only seven and a half years old. When the Shaky Hand Man is awake I can't talk. It's like he puts me in a box. No, it's worse than a box. It's like he buries me in dirt. Just dirt. No box. Sometimes the Shaky Hand Man has to think. Sometimes he has to plan things. He plans bad things all the time. I  don't know where he goes when he thinks, but that's good, because it means he's not here. That's when I feel all better. That's when I don't feel so sick anymore. I really, really, really want to go home. I want to go back to California. I miss my mommy and daddy. I miss everybody. I miss my whole generation. Even the dogs. Especially the dogs. I miss Barkley. He's my dog. Please! Please! Please! I gotta stop. I can't tell you anymore. I can't. My stomach hurts........ And then her eyes glazed over. Her hands contorted and she stopped....... It is I, the unnamed voice. I saw her. I found her. I came to her. She likes me. She enjoys my presence. She calls me her friend. And you must know that she does not want to do it. But she is helpless. The Shaky Hand Man allows her to sleep. He leads her through rich, quiet hotels. He can unlock the doors to empty rooms. He can cloud the sight of onlookers. She wanders down thickly carpeted hallways. She opens a door and goes inside to sleep on large, formal beds. But never, never, never under the covers. Not like that. Sometimes the Shaky Hand Man allows her to bathe in warm water. Sometimes he does not. When she requires fresh clothing, he unlocks the sinister, nighttime, loading dock doors to a cavernous department store. She walks in, all alone, except for the Shaky Hand Man. It's dark and empty. She cries. She sobs softly. Sometimes she picks up a package of children's underwear. Sometimes some socks. whatever she needs. She knows it is wrong to steal. But this is not stealing. Her hands are not her own. This city is in the cold part of its year now, so she takes a coat, whatever. She needs  a small, stuffed dog. But the Shaky Hand Man will not permit it. So no stuffed dog. Nothing to hug. She exits the loading dock door and carefully climbs down the cement platform to the street. She knows how to be careful. It hurts when she falls. Her tiny shoes clip-clop down the icy street. There are sinister beings about. Most of them are merely humans, but some are not. They fail to see her. The Shaky Hand Man has clouded their vision. Sometimes she walks all night. Her legs hurt. Her feet hurt. She uses dirty toilets. And she enables this non-physical entity to kill people. Her name truly is Annie. And she wants to go home. But first she must help him cleanse this city. She does not understand it. And he does not care. The Shaky Hand Man will tell her anything. But she will never go home. He will use her till she dies. Oh, but he does not want that to happen. He does not want her to die. Not soon amyway. That would only create problems. That would force him to gnaw into the soul of an unfortunate, near-term fetus and enter the world all over again. But at least he'd be all fresh and whole and new.......... You know that I can see things. People like when I share what I see. Here is what I see right now.......... There is a girl in Arizona. Wise up! He is a liar. You know what I mean. Look him in the eye and tell him. But take a friend. Do not go alone....... For Jimmy in New Jersey - Do not take the household refuse out late at night. That thing at the end of the lane is not just an optical illusion. It is not just a playful combination of moonlight and shadows. Stay away........... To Mitzi somewhere along the Gulf of Mexico - That Gloria is nothing but a lousy cheater. Do not play the ancient, Chinese game known as Mah Jong with her again. Go with Doris. Have an 'early bird'. See a motion picture performance and call it a night.......... Oh, and if any soul out there has similar capabilities, might they please contact me and tell me my name? I am on the Twitter. Reach me through Tomas' familiar, that wilkravitz character. Go to Billy Kravitz@wilkravitz. That is all you have to do. And do not be so shocked to learn that a disembodied spirit, such as I, uses the internet too. For in this medium are we all not disembodied spirits?

The Book of Sarah

It is me this time. It is Tomas, I am deeply depressed. Even those new pairs of spectacularly fitting jeans I purchased on Walnut Street failed to raise my spirits. The girl said it made me look like one of the dancers on Dancing With The Stars. But I do not look at that program, so I do not know what she was talking about. If they want to see dancing, real dancing, they should watch some dervishes, or maybe a belly dancer, the good ones like they had (and I suppose still have) in Istanbul. My Uncle Hanan always had belly dancers at his dinners. They were wonderful. I cannot remember their names. One of them ran away with the Gypsies. That is all I can recall. I ramble. But it is only because I morn for my copy of La Ciencia Vampirismo. At first I thought we took it when we fled our crumbling tower. However I was wrong. We do not have it. The Old Woman has it. I can imagine the poetic secrets inscribed within whispered into the ears of demons. Will they learn of The Reign of Pan? Will they laugh at the vampiric betrothal rites of Chin Dynasty Cathay? May the night wind dry them like dead, November leaves. We do go out, but always in a group. Sarah and I meet Baylah and the three of us go to the Mutter Museum to get Bob. We stroll about the byways of Center City. No one notices. They have other outlandish specimens to gawk at. There is the levitating, toothless crone of Head House Square. The twelve fingered fandango dancer of South Street (quite the virtuoso on the castanets). And the greasy dwarf of Pig Alley, who ignites his powerful farts for five dollars a pop. I hear he is quite wealthy. Annie took another victim. The Pow Wow Woman knew. I did too. Sarah is still oblivious to such things. She picks up certain simple nuances, but there is still much work to do. Annie's victim was an important personage, a political leader in town for a certain award ceremony. He was to receive the Franklin Crystal, a large bowl (meant to recall Benjamin Franklin's famous musical armonica) given to those people who work to bring 'harmony' to humanity. Annie did not use the dogs this time. I told you. she has apparently developed a taste for the unusual, a taste for variety. She used her latest weapon. The victim was dreaming between the eighthundred count sheets of his sixtyfive hundred dollar a night suite, when a magical, minute 'conga line' made its way up from the tiny, shadowy depths. Thousands (or maybe it was millions?) of loathsome redish-brown  creepy-crawlies, the size of boiled rice grains, marched into a random assortment of his bodily orafices. Others satisfied themselves with a bite of his skin and deeper layers as well. By the time he awoke, he was blind,tongueless and deaf. Other important pieces of equipment were mangled to the point of unrecognizability. They had to scrape what was left of him off the sheets. Fortunately for the housekeeping staff, the down topper saved the mattress. I wonder who is sleeping there tonight. It was all kept quiet. Few individuals even know. But we know and Annie knows. That is the important thing. I think they wound up presenting the bowl to former President, James Carter. He seems like such a nice man. We've been catching glimpses of the elves and cherubs. Have I told you about them? I do not remember. Anyway, they are an especially enchanted breed of vampire, made from juvenile humans brought over just shy of puberty. Others are even more exotic than that. We will discuss their uniqueness some other time. Baylah is afraid the Enemy will trip us up with simple tactics. Nothing extravagant. Maybe just a good, old fashioned 'drive by'. She could bewitch her own strain of familiars into doing it for her. They could 'stitch us up real good'. It would have to be in a public area. What could we do, lay down on the sidewalk and pretend to be dead? The ordeal would be painful, but it would not kill us. Should we just continue walking? Don't make eye contact and just keep going? Either way, we would be 'outted'. Poeple would see. Society would notice. The government would swope down. We would wind up hidden away deep beneath the Pentagon, unexplainable specimens, exploited for military purposes. Quite like my maker, who lies deep within the Vatican Archives in Rome. No, no, no, no... that is a reality I would not like to experience. We're strolling by the coffee bar right now. The one where my wilkravitz familiar types this all up. He knows I'm close by. See? He's nervous. Look how he scratches at his ear. Oooh! He almost spilled his coffee. We had better hurry on our way before he ruins that new lap top.

The Book of Sarah

I am here. I am in your reality once again. Who am I? I do not know. We communicated before. I remembered the sun on the Ganges. That is all I can tell you. If any of the souls out there are capable of astral linkages, please tell me who I am. I am somewhat sure that I would like to know. But I do know certain things and I do see things. Some are trivial. Some are fundamental to the continuation of the firmament. The things I will relate to you now fall approximately twelve python lengths above the middle. I can feel that thing you call 'Annie'. I can feel that personage capering about in the skin of a little girl. I don't know if the little child possesses her own soul, or if she is merely a vessel, created to clothe the Enemy. Forgive this lowly individual, but I do not know. Let me now share those things I am sure of. The 'Annie' is still in the New World City of Fraternal Unity, the place known as Philadelphia. She has cut short the earthly sojourn of many souls. And she plans to curtail the lives of many more. Her victims are all innocent. You can search the akashic records from The Silver Eternity to The Golden Eternity and you will find no strike against any of them. But this one is not come into the world to right wrongs. She is there only to kill. I suspect her true purpose is to take out those souls who are laboring (or who might labor) for peace and harmony. She (it?) is very bad, more evil than The Seventh Benighted Monkey. And that is very, very bad indeed. I think that Tomas, or the consort Sarah is trying to come through. I think they are attempting to contact you. For that reason I will be brief. But there are things I know about particular people out there. Let me begin. A girl in a house near a beach has been neglecting certain responsibilities. She is in denial. But she is concerned. Face these chores, no matter how repulsive. Triumph over them. You will rise to a level of increased earthly happiness. One nearby is eager to help. There is a man in a city, a New World city who has misplaced something of great value. He has been searching for days. He has been searching in vain. Fear not, your frustrations will cease. The physical object in question lies hidden deep within the cushions of a large divan (what you commonly term a sofa). Look once more, right where you usually take your ease and you will find it. That is all. I am evaporating. The one known as Tomas condenses in my place....... Please forgive me for the delay. Someone else was on  the line, as they used to say. His identity is a mystery to me. My wilkravitz familiar (the one busy typing this out in some crowded coffee bar) must be greatly confused. Sarah is progressing. She is a very willing pupil. We are currently working on sublimation. Solid walls are still too much for her. But she is very able to pass through fabric barriers such as curtains, Japanese soji screens and the like. We are also trying to strengthen her latent telepathic abilities. As I have stated before, these have little to do with her present vampiric state. She has had them since birth. You all do, at least those of you who are human. But Jerusalem was not built in a day. We work, yet we are patient. She has not taken her first preordained victim . That pivotal event will most likely (God willing) occur in a week or two.  I think she's been having visions of an especially loathsome schoolmaster, or some similar type who holds dominion over children. All I can tell you is that come a fortnight from now some needlessly tormented little tykes will be deleriously happy. But we have been extant in the world. Her favorite thing is leaving fat wallets (naturally minus any identification) where beaten-down poor souls might find them. One sad individual, a hard-working mother with a little boy, visits a neighborhood doughnut shop every night to ask for any stale or otherwise unacceptable pastries she might have before they are unceremoniously thrown to the rats. Last night, we left a black, leather wallet down on the sidewalk where she would find it. Now she is the proud owner of a stack made up of fifty onehundred dollar bills. I can tell you her angelic son is not waiting for dried up bits of sugary dough tonight. And that is but one example. Baylah does things like that too. So does Bob. It is how we are. It is the nature of the beast. Look, of couse we know about Annie's exploits. How could we not? But it is difficult for us to neutralize her. The dogs are the problem. Human psyches are easy to influence and controll. Animals are different. When she does not use the dogs, she uses rats.  And I sense that of late she has been experimenting with a new weapon, a certain noxious, nocturnal insect particularly fond of human flesh.........Always the innovator that one. Now I must be off........... Goodnight, (and please, if at all possible) don't let the bedbugs bite.